


The Efforts of the Bloody and the Futile

by saltyburning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But she genuinely thinks she’s doing the right thing, Crazy Sam Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Dead Dean Winchester, Gen, Grieving Sam Winchester, He hasn’t like totally lost it or destroyed his morals or anything he’s just a little unhinged, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Manipulative Ruby (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Angst, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam invites Ruby to a french fry date, Scary Sam Winchester, The romance is very faint but it’s because they view each other in complicated ways, conflicting emotions, i don’t like that tag but idk what else to use for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyburning/pseuds/saltyburning
Summary: “It’s the perfect crime scene. A work of art. She’d be giddy, if she were the one who created it. But she’s not, so she lets the tremors of twisted fear travel up her spine and through her fingertips.She has a Winchester to find, that is, unless he finds her first.”
Relationships: Ruby & Sam Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The Efforts of the Bloody and the Futile

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up all night to write this like an idiot and now I’m tired and my eyes are bloodshot (ouch). Worth it though! It might be all over the place but uh I like it

The bell chimes too loud when she enters the ramshackle building, and she flinches at the sound. This feels like a trap, but no attack follows. 

So, she allows herself to slide her gaze back and forth across the room, peering through shadows at the scene she just entered. 

The diner floor is dirty. Maybe once shiny and new and sparkling with optimism, but that was a long time ago. Many people have walked here, not many have cleaned. Old food, mousetraps, and dirty footprints- grave dirt, she’d bet, knowing this town- are tracked across it. Blood travels in a path between the black and white tiles, seeping forward slowly- a blooming flower. 

Bodies are strewn about. Thrown on counters, tables. Tossed on the ground as if they were rag dolls, eyes open and glazed like frosted glass. 

It’s the perfect crime scene. A work of art. She’d be giddy, if she were the one who created it. But she’s not, so she lets the tremors of twisted fear travel up her spine and through her fingertips. 

What kind of game is this? She has work to do, she has a Winchester to find- 

“Ruby,” one of the shadows greets her, tucked in a corner booth. 

She has a Winchester to find, that is, unless he finds her first. 

Stepping daintily over someone’s hand, someone’s purple and blue and too-pale hand with their wedding ring still gleaming on their finger, she walks over to him. Her heels make an annoying _tiptaptiptap_ as she approaches. Stupid meatsuit and its useless wardrobe. 

“Hi, Sammy. I see you’ve been busy?” She keeps her voice cool, coated with honey. She was supposed to find him, supposed to convince him to kill Lilith, he wasn’t meant to do... whatever the hell this is. 

Sam just waves his hand in dismissal. “Demons,” he says, as if it explains everything. “I was trying out something I picked up from Ava.” 

She wavers in front of him uncertainly. She doesn’t like the feeling. She’s still not broken her meatsuit in quite yet- the living ones always take longer- and feels like she’s drifting formlessly. He seems to pick up on that, and lifts his face so the light staggering through the window blinds streaks across it in prison-like lines. His eyes gleam, almost maniacally cheery, with the reflection of street lights as he motions for her to sit with quick waves of his hand. 

She slides into the booth across from him. He seems pleased, takes a sip out of his soda. 

He looks up at her over his straw. Almost a child-like thing to do, if not for the blood splattered across his face. Then again, what does Ruby know about children? 

One of the bodies on the table to her left shifts a bit under gravity and she tries not to think about the smell. She may be a demon, but she has standards. Rotting bodies is something she tends to leave behind, not drink a coke next to. 

Sam is stirring the ice around in his glass, so Ruby hurries him along. “Why am I here then?” 

He pauses. Looks up. Lines are set around his face in places they weren’t before, she notices. He looks like he’s made of chipped tile that’s been walked on too many times. Dean’s death had ruined him. He opens his mouth as if to explain, then closes it. When he opens it again, he speaks with a too-wide grin. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again. You know, like a date.” 

“Like a date.” She looks at Sam disbelievingly, then huffs. “You know, the real way to get a girl is to let her kill a little with you. It’s rude to just take them all.” 

Sam smiles and settles into his seat, seemingly satisfied. He traces designs in the condensation on his glass with a blood-coated finger. “Sorry about that. In my defense, you _are_ about seven minutes late.” He tilts his head to the side a bit, matted hair sticking to the gore on his face. “French fries?” 

“What?” Ruby’s startled at his offer, until he slides a basket of fries closer to her. They look limp and cold. “No thanks. Sam, I know you’re grieving the death of your brother, but-“ 

“He’s not dead.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Or at least, he won’t be.” Sam waves his hand through the air idly. “I’m getting him back- I just need more practice. I know I can get him out of Hell, I _know_ it.” 

Now this is an interesting development. She was supposed to be the one to convince uptight-morals Dumbo to bust into Hell and get his brother back, but it seems he’s done the work for her all on his own. If she can just slip in, tweak things a little, convince him that killing Lilith is a priority- Sam will take his place as the savior of the world, the one who will bring both light and death. 

He had so much potential when she had last seen him, brimming with sun-red rage and purpose, so easy to mold in her hands and shape him into who he was destined to be. 

Yet now, when he has done so much of the work on his own, he somehow sets her on edge. His too-twitchy and too-calm motions, his warm smiles and blood-soaked jacket. Trying to form him into his destiny would be less like spinning clay and more like glueing shattered pieces of ceramic together. 

His behavior is disconcerting, which makes her feel a twinge of anger at herself because she’s not supposed to be uneasy about this sort of thing. She shoves it aside and asks again, “What did you call me for, Sam? You know that I’m always available to be of some help.” She reaches out a hand to place over Sam’s comfortingly, but he snatches his away before she can. Fine by her. These nails were recently painted anyways. 

“You know, they say these are the best fries in town,” he offers, avoidant. 

“Of course they are, there’s nothing else here,” Ruby snaps. He doesn’t flinch. Disappointed, she sighs and looks out the window. A plastic bag tumbles across the parking lot as if on some great adventure. 

Sam picks at the reddish grit along his cuticles. The diner is silent and the smell is really starting to get to her. There’s a reason why she was desperate to get out of Hell so fast, and it wasn’t just for the fate of the world. “Sam,” she begins but doesn’t finish her sentence. 

Sam wordlessly pushes the basket of french fries towards her again with the tips of his fingers. It leaves a greasy stain across the table. The motion is such a Dean-like one that she’s frozen for a moment. It’s a hopeful gesture, something reminiscent of gunmetal and cheap beer and an unspoken conversation. 

He blinks up at her with those wide, guileless, puppy-like eyes as if he hadn’t just wiped out an entire parade of demons with nothing but his mind. 

Truth is, while Ruby doesn’t like being afraid, she also doesn’t like being a smear of guts on the wall. There’s a fine line between useful and combustible, and she is just trying to figure out which side Sam falls on. 

She takes a fry from the basket and bites into it. Too much salt. She tastes blood when she downs it, but Sam is smiling so maybe it’s okay. Maybe she could have hope, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many other things I should be writing but here you go! It _was_ pretty fun to write though ^_^


End file.
